Eternity
by The Vanishing Magician
Summary: Edward is...complicated. But maybe if you knew a little bit more about his life, then maybe you'd understand.
1. Chapter One

_Author's Note: Hello everyone and thanks for clicking on my title. I'd ask that if you have opened this page you please read this story and leave a review. Constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated. Reviews let me know whether or not to continue this story. I am well aware that this could stand as a one-shot and that's how I originally intended to leave it, but as I wrote a plot idea sprung into my head. So please, let me know if you'd like to read more of this. It would mean a lot. I also don't own Twilight – the marvellous Stephenie Meyer does._

**Eternity**

_Chapter One_

I'm not an overtly religious boy. I have absolutely no problem with those who choose to worship a god or pray daily. I just prefer to live differently. Being unreligious helps to keep me indifferent. I am able to see things from a vast array of opinions. It's much freer than the confines of one strict set of beliefs. I would not consider myself an atheist. I'm all for the existence of a higher power, just so long as someone can prove to me its existence. Good luck to the poor soul who endeavours such a task. Especially now – as I lay in this dismal hospital bed, surrounded by death and despair – I have begun to completely doubt the existence of any god.

It was no more than a week ago that father had fallen ill. The influenza had become an epidemic throughout many cities in North America, Chicago included. Because the disease spread rapidly, mother and I both became infected within hours. We rushed to one of the many overcrowded hospitals, hopeful to not infect any others whose health was intact. As soon as I stepped inside, I could sense the atmosphere of constant death. Looking around, it was impossible to tell who was still breathing and who had already passed on. Everyone was so still – save for those who were screaming in agony as the influenza tore them apart from the inside. A strange sense of foreboding took me over as a tired looking nurse led us to three beds.

The hours passed in a blur, people running back and forth, wheeling fresh cadavers out to the morgue and nurses leading new patients to freshly emptied beds. I felt myself growing weaker and I knew that I was slowly dying. At first, I was afraid. My entire life had been spent denying the existence of the divine but I had never really contemplated what would happen to me after death. I had always assumed that I would simply turn to dust, but now – with a high fever raging war against my body – I was unsure of whether or not I should finally turn to a god and beg for forgiveness. Before I could consider the matter any further, sleep claimed me and I fell into the darkness of my own mind.

I was awoken in what seemed like no time by the sound of heart wrenching sobs coming from somewhere in the near vicinity. My eyes slowly opened and I instantly felt the pain of my disease again – the cold sweat that dripped down my body, the aches that coursed through every muscle. I turned to my left and saw a man leaning over my mother, who was the origin of the crying.

"Mother?"

My voice came out as barely more than a hoarse whisper. Both she and the man turned to look at me. The man, who wore the traditional uniform of the doctor, stood up and silently walked over to my bed, sitting by my side. He looked at me with pity, through eyes of the strangest topaz colour. He was undeniably handsome and his face radiated with a kind, sympathetic light.

"Edward," he spoke softly and I vaguely wondered how he knew my name, "I'm sorry, but your father has passed on." His eyes closed and I felt mine do the same. I fought to hold back the burning tears that were simply itching to get out. But I couldn't cry, not in front of mother. It would simply destroy her. I had to be strong, for mother. I felt the doctor place a strong hand on my forearm and felt a strange sensation of relief. His skin was so cold that it seemed to relieve my fever for just a split second. And then, just as quickly as the relief came, it was gone. I wrenched my eyes open and wiped the pent up tears away on my pillow. But before my vision could return, the doctor was gone. He was a few beds down, speaking to another patient. I turned to face my mother, who looked undeniably lost.

"I won't let anything happen to you Edward." Her voice was stronger than mine, with more resolve to fight off this dreadful illness, although there was a slight echo of disbelief and doubt ringing off her words. She moved to stand up, doubtlessly to come nurse me, but I shook my head feebly.

"Go back to sleep mother," I managed to say, "You need your rest."

I'm not sure how long it took, but eventually my mother's sobs died and her breathing grew soft, almost peaceful. I sighed heavily. The disease had claimed my father, the man who had raised me, whose name I hold. There is no god. No god would allow their beloved creations to suffer so terribly. If there was a god, there would be no flu. And I would still have father. And we would still be at home, playing catch in the yard while mother baked something delicious. A choked, almost animalistic sob escaped from my heaving chest. I noticed the handsome doctor looked up from the other side of the room, his features drawn in pity. Then he looked away, still cheerless.

Days passed and I had grown almost positive that mother had lost her mind, whether from the illness or the grief I could not have been certain. I felt myself growing weaker with each passing hour. The smell of death lingered strong in my nostrils, only fuelled by the passing corpses. The miserable atmosphere of the hospital did nothing to help my spirits and I felt as though happiness had vanished off the face of the earth entirely. Breathing was becoming challenging for me and I had a sneaking suspicion that I would soon join my father, wherever it is that he had gone. Mother seemed to think differently though. It was as though she was determined to not let me go. Much to my dismay, she would constantly leave her bed and venture to my side, singing to me and using her own damp facecloth to cool me off. It was quite literally killing her to see me in such agony. Many times, the handsome doctor came and placed my mother back in her own bed, handing her another facecloth, which would ultimately end up on me.

I am unsure of how many days this went on for, but eventually mother's condition took a turn for the worse. I could hear her harsh breathing from my bed, as though her very throat was closing. I couldn't bear to look at her and see her body shaking with the cold sweat that the fever caused. I was no longer afraid of death as I had been when first entering the hospital. Anger now plagued all my thoughts of death – anger at a nonexistent god who had done nothing to save my family. We would all die here in this musty old hospital room, watched by the handsome doctor, who would live on – even if for a short while – with the severe guilt of having not been able to save more lives. It was unfair. As I wallowed in my confusing thoughts, I heard mother rasping out my name. I looked at her and felt my heart shatter. Her skin was sallow and her eyes were bloodshot and full of anguish.

"Edward," she gasped out, "I'm going to heaven soon. There is a heaven and we'll meet there one day. I promise. We'll all meet there one day, because this…this is hell."

I could do nothing but begin to cry. My mother simply smiled softly and closed her eyes. I could hear her humming peaceful melodies to herself. The velvety sound lulled me into an uneasy sleep. I was in a state of wakeful sleeping, I suppose. I heard the sounds of the hospital around me as I dreamt of mother's smiling face as I grew up, older than seventeen, got married, and raised a family. Of course, I was well aware that it would only ever be a dream.

As I slept – if it could even be classified as such – I heard the most peculiar conversation. I recognized the voice of the handsome doctor conversing with my mother. She sounded desperate, begging him to save my life, to do what others could not do. The doctor's tone was incredulous but understanding. And then there was complete silence. I knew mother had died. But in my state of stupor, of complete lethargy I did not cry. I felt the end of my life ticking closer with each second. But I was no longer afraid, no longer angry, because I believed what mother had told me. She had seemed so entirely sure that heaven was a real place. Perhaps if I just gave in to the pain I would see her sooner. But she had told the doctor to save my life. Mother did not want me to die, not until I had grown up and fulfilled my dreams. My head was spinning with the dozens of thoughts when I heard my name.

"Edward?"

The voice was familiar and though I was barely conscience, I recognized that it belonged to the handsome doctor. He had certainly been trying his hardest to help my family. I felt his cool grasp on my arm and my eyes opened ever so slightly. I could barely make out the doctor's face, but I knew it was him.

"Edward," he whispered, his voice laced with relief at the realization that I was still alive, even though just. "Edward, I'm going to save your life, but you have to promise you'll forgive me."

I hazily wondered if I had lost my mind as well. Of course I wanted to live, but was that even possible at this point? And why would I ever need to forgive a man for saving my life? At any rate, I should forever be in his debt. I felt the doctor give my arm a little squeeze and I remembered that he had asked for my word.

"I promise," I whispered, so low I wondered if he heard me. Apparently he had, because I felt my bed being wheeled away from its original place. As I passed various patients I heard choruses of sickened groans and dying laments. It made my weakened heart cry for them. I could almost feel their suffering as it amplified mine. I inwardly wished that the doctor could save all these people, save them as he was going to save me. But something told me that was out of his power. He must have brought me outside then, because I felt a rush of cool air hit my body. I shivered as a chill rocketed down my spine.

"Just hold on a little while longer," I heard the doctor whisper. His voice was so melodic, so perfect. I wondered how he was going to keep me from death. And then, the oddest thing happened.

I felt myself being lifted from my bed – by whom, I had no idea. The doctor was the only one around, but he was young and looked rather slim. I doubted he could lift me alone. But sure enough, a pair of cold hands slung me onto a cold back and in moments I was flying. I barely remember it though, as the shock caused me to pass out.

The next sensation, after flying, that registers in my mind is the sensation of fiery pain. Surely, this was dying.


	2. Chapter Two

_Author's Note: Thank you to those who reviewed. I've decided to make this a chaptered story, not just a one-shot. I'm actually really excited about this. I have some great ideas so I hope you'll all keep reading and reviewing to let me know what you think. Thanks a million._

**Chapter Two**

Seconds crawled by, turning into minutes at a cruelly sluggish rate. I felt as though every pore of my body had been consumed by an inferno. It was quite the difference from the cold sweat that had marred me at the hospital. This was so much worse. I screamed bloody murder, tore at my clothing, scratched at my face – anything to distract me from the agony of fire that coursed through me. Nothing helped. The torture continued on until I lost track of all time. I lapsed in and out of consciousness, at times feeling completely alone, and at others knowing that someone was watching me.

And rather suddenly, the pain ceased. The fire was extinguished and I lay trembling in a makeshift bed, shrouded by darkness. There was still a burning sensation in the back of my throat, though it was not agonizing. Instead, it seemed rather desperate. I could only describe the feeling as thirsty.

"Hello," I called out into the shadowy corners of the room, wondering if anyone was in here with me. I noticed that my voice had returned to normal. It was no longer plagued by the illness that had landed me in the hospital. At that thought, my memories seemed to flood back. I recalled the passing of both my parents and the strange, but handsome doctor who had promised to save my life.

Impulsively, I placed my hand over my chest to ensure that the doctor had accomplished his task, that I was still very much alive. I searched frantically, but could not come upon the thing I sought. My heart was not beating. I was unsure of how to react to such a finding. Instinct told me to be afraid. Intelligence told me I was dead. Funny though, I didn't feel dead. I felt so alive, so strong – which was odd considering the immense pain I had just endured for who knows how long. I sat up in the cot that had been provided for me. It looked very unkempt and led me to the conclusion that my host – who I believed to be the doctor – rarely had visitors for the night. It was then that I felt my head begin to buzz with an odd sensation.

Unexpectedly, to my right somewhere, a door creaked open and a slim beam of light penetrated the unending darkness of my chamber. I watched, unmoving and unafraid, as the familiar doctor from the hospital entered and closed the door behind him. The light, however, did not disappear as it was produced by the candle held in his left hand. The doctor, whose name I still had not learned, came and sat by my feet, but not before placing his candle on the bedside table. I had barely noticed before, but as he had entered, he held a tiny glass vial in his right hand. He kept that with him as he sat down. Curious though, whatever liquid was in there smelled tempting enough to drink. And I was rather thirsty.

"How are you feeling Edward?" The doctor looked at me with genuine curiosity, as though wondering how long it would take me to implode. I felt almost uncomfortable, but a faint voice in the back of my head told me that I was being ridiculous. However, that faint voice wasn't the only sound inside my head. The buzzing had intensified and was nearly so overwhelming I desired to clamp my hands over my ears in an attempt to stop it. I refrained though, pushing the buzzing to the back of my mind, where it continued on in a wild flurry.

"Strange," I answered truthfully. I studied the doctor's face, trying to draw out any clues that would explain the circumstances of my situation. I noticed the corners of his lips turn up into a slight smile. I also noticed his eyes again, but they were now different. The strange topaz colour I had observed in the hospital had been replaced by a dark, close to black colour, almost matching the bruise-like bags under his eyes.

"What happened?" I asked, a thousand and one questions burning behind that simple inquiry. The doctor's smile instantly morphed into a frown as he heaved a deep, sorrowful sigh. I knew whatever answer he was about to provide would probably not make me happy.

"Edward," he was careful with his tone as he spoke to me. The buzzing in my mind intensified, screaming, desperate to be heard. "You were dying. You were so close to being taken by the influenza. And your mother…she didn't want that for you. She asked me to save you. I did everything in my power to fulfill her final wishes."

My mind shot back through time, to when I was barely conscience on my deathbed, listening to the bizarre conversation my mother was having with this doctor. She had spoken to him in a hushed whisper, as though afraid that someone would hear, even though no one was listening. Perhaps she was afraid that I would hear. Could it have been that terrible? What had happened to me?

"What happened?" I repeated through trembling lips. I ignored the terrified buzzing as it swirled through my psyche focusing on the conversation I was having with the doctor.

"Perhaps I should start closer to the beginning," he mumbled in response and the buzzing calmed, ever so slightly, "My name is Carlisle Cullen. I'm a doctor, that much you know. But I'm so much more. You see, Edward, I have a gift…or a curse, depending on which way you look at it. I'm a vampire."

To be completely truthful, I was unsure of how to respond. I was silent, allowing this new information to sink in, contemplating if it could possibly be true. The buzzing in my head was also silenced in an almost apprehensive manner and I was thankful. I could barely believe what Doctor Cullen had just revealed to me. Vampires were beings out of stories and legends. They were certainly not here, walking amongst humans, working in hospitals when they so happily feasted on blood. It was impossible. But perhaps it was also the reason I was still alive. Although if I were a vampire, alive would do me no justice – awake would be a much better term.

"Does that mean…?" I didn't even bother finishing with my question. Of course I was a vampire as well. That would explain the lack of a heartbeat. I was a vampire. Me, Edward Anthony Masen, a monster, a killer of innocents, a bloodthirsty beast. A wave of mixed hysteria and anger swept over me and I clenched at the sides of the bed. The buzzing had returned at full force. I wanted to scream at it to stop and somewhere, in the very back of my mind, I dimly wondered if the searing pain of before had caused me to lapse into some horrible, twisted nightmare.

"I'm sorry Edward," Carlisle whispered so low that I was amazed I could hear him, "It was the only way. I do hope you'll forgive me."

I didn't respond. I didn't want to. I refused to come to terms with the fact that I was a monster. And so I closed my eyes and focused on organizing my disorderly thoughts. And as I focused on nothing but my mind, I heard a voice break through the damned buzzing and it was a very familiar one at that.

_How could I do this? He's just a boy, so innocent. He doesn't deserve this. I do wonder though…maybe he's thirsty…_

"I am."

The words had escaped my lips before I even had time to come to the conclusion that I had just heard Carlisle's voice from inside my head. He had spoken without moving his lips. I suppose, at the time, that I just passed it off as some strange vampire trait. Carlisle looked at me with wide eyes, confusion unmistakably written all over his face.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm thirsty," I repeated, "Just like you suggested. Although I'm not too keen on drinking blood…if in fact I am a vampire."

The buzzing in my head started up once more, this time louder than ever. I shot Carlisle a look of annoyance.

"What on Earth is that infernal noise?" I raised my hands to cover my ears, trying in vein to block out the maddening sound. Carlisle continued to look at me curiously.

"Just like Aro," he mumbled, "Interesting, interesting, interesting." He held out his pallid hand towards me, "Edward, what am I thinking?" It was my turn to stare at Carlisle as though he were the madman in the room. How on Earth was I supposed to know what he was thinking?

"For goodness' sake, I don't know!" I felt an uncharacteristic anger bubble in my chest and terrible thirst burned at the back of my throat, begging to be quenched. I had a strange desire to growl, to fight, to kill. I felt Carlisle's hand clench my arm tightly – with more force than he had ever used at the hospital and I calmed down ever so slightly, the intelligent part of me knowing I did not desire to pick a fight with the man who clearly knew what was going on one hell of a lot better than I did.

"Just focus Edward," Carlisle instructed, "Listen carefully."

I closed my eyes and focused in on the buzzing that had strengthened in my ears. And I heard a single clear sentence ring out from the noise.

_Vampires can go out in the sunlight, I bet you were unaware of that…_

"Actually, I was," I replied to Carlisle, though he had said nothing, "Unaware, I mean. Can we really?"

"When there are no humans around," Carlisle nodded, "We…we sparkle, I suppose you could say." He let out a low chuckle as though remembering something far, far in the past.

"So, I can read your thoughts?" I asked, still confused as to why I could do such a thing. Carlisle nodded.

"It's your talent," he said happily, as though it were obvious, "You see, everyone has something they are good at or something special about them, and when we're transformed into vampires we take these traits with us and they're magnified, probably tenfold. You must have been very sensitive to the thoughts and feelings of those around you. Now, you can actually hear them, instead of just sense them."

"Sounds confusing," I muttered, "Would you like me to stay out of your mind Carlisle?" I figured I owed him as much as privacy after he had saved me from the influenza – even if I was now eternally damned. At least I would grow up…sort of.

"When you can," he smiled, "My head is a very confusing place. There's a lot in there."

I chuckled. Like the buzzing hadn't already told me as much.

"What's your special talent?" I asked, blocking out all the buzzing in order to not take the answer from Carlisle's mind. Of course, I still heard the buzzing, but no voices came from it. Carlisle smiled serenely.

"Questions later," he said, "We need to get you fed before the thirst intensifies." He pulled the small glass vial out of his pocket and shook it around. I looked at it with hungry eyes as my throat burned with curiosity and desire.

"Is it…"

"Blood, yes," Carlisle cut me off, "But it's a little different than what you're probably thinking."

He handed me the vial and I popped the stopper off. It fell to the ground and rolled somewhere under the bed. The liquid smelled so much more alluring now. I raised the vial and brought it to my waiting lips, drinking every last drop, enjoying the cool relief it brought to my scorched throat. When I was finished I tossed the vial to the floor to join the stopper.

"I want more."

I noticed that my voice was nothing more than a snarl. Carlisle pulled another vial out of his pocket, one that I had not seen him enter with. I reached out for it, but he held it back. My teeth snapped in his direction. Carlisle looked at me sternly.

"Edward, control yourself," his voice was authoritative and my snarls subsided to low growls. Carlisle kept the vial at a safe distance and began talking again.

"I do not drink human blood," he said, still strict, "And neither will you. I live in peace with humans, and you will do the same. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I nodded with fervour, "But then…what was it I just drank?"

"Deer, quite common and quite delicious."

"Interesting," I mumbled as Carlisle handed me the second vial and I cracked it open. The red liquid…the blood splashed around inside as I raised it to my lips, looking forward to the sweet, sweet taste.

_Author's Note: What did you guys think of the way I portrayed Edward's first encounter with his powers? Well written? Poor? Opinions are greatly appreciated. Thanks a bunch._


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

A few years passed, although it did not trouble me at all. I had plenty of years still to come. Carlisle and I became good friends; in fact I had begun to look at him as a father figure. He had taught me much about being a vampire and had been careful to help me stay true to his dietary rules. Carlisle was a very intelligent man and I learned much about his past in the first few weeks we lived together. He had been the son of a pastor who had passionately hunted vampires. I found it funny – in a sadly ironic sort of way – that Carlisle had become that which he had once hunted. My now dead heart surely went out to him. I also tried to keep myself from his mind, which indeed was a pool of complex thoughts and ideas. In fact, I had become rather practised in the four years since my change. I only now delved into Carlisle's mind if he summoned me first – that is calling my name mentally. It was useful, even though we did have acute hearing.

We left Chicago not too long after Carlisle had bitten me. He felt it would hold too many painful memories for me and cause me to act out of line. I did not foresee that becoming an issue, but I was not a psychic. And so, we moved to Ashland. Wisconsin was nice – quiet. I liked it there and I felt more at peace than I had in Chicago. Perhaps Carlisle had been correct about the gloomy memories haunting me in the place where I should have died. We had lived in Ashland for almost four years – Carlisle working as a physician – before anything extraordinarily interesting happened.

Carlisle had gone to work for the day, leaving me home alone. I lounged about on the couch – our new permanent residence much more fit for living than our last – and I was reading Dracula. Of course I had read it before and prior to my change it had been one of my preferred pieces of literature. Of course, Count Dracula was nothing like me, not to mention Carlisle. It was odd. I wondered, vaguely, if Bram Stoker had ever actually made acquaintance with a vampire.

I was almost halfway through the novel when Carlisle came bursting through the front door. And he was not alone. He held a rather pretty woman in his arms. She looked barely alive. My mind automatically assumed the worst, and I was sure if there was blood still flowing freely through my veins, it would have drained from my face. Had Carlisle really taken this woman's life? Had he lost control? I could not imagine such an event ever happening. It would destroy the image of a father I had built around him for the little time we had spent together. And so I did what I had been training myself not to do. I probed Carlisle's mind, searching for the answer I knew he held there.

_Of course there's time to save her. She should be lying down. Poor girl. _

I pulled out his mind, hearing his worry and his concern. He had certainly not bitten this woman. I quickly hopped off the couch as Carlisle glided with impeccable speed and laid the petite woman down in what looked to be a comfortable position. Without so much as a glance or a word to me, Carlisle leaned forward and placed his lips to her pallid neck. I closed my eyes. I did not want to see her wounds. I did not wish to learn what had happened to me so few years ago. I heard a moment of dead silence, followed by a grunt of indescribable pain. I pushed the little woman's thoughts out of my head and walked away, straight out of the house.

I did not return for three days, feeding off tiny mammals like squirrels and mice. They didn't make for tasty meals, but anything was better than being in the house, listening to cries of agony. Carlisle had told me that transformations usually took three days, so I played it safe and returned exactly seventy-four hours after the woman had been bitten. That gave me two hours over three days, so I was hoping for the best when I walked through the front door. As soon as I stepped into the threshold of the house, Carlisle was in front of me, his face in mine, and a scowl lit his flawless features. To put the situation lightly, he seemed angry.

"Where the hell have you been?" he growled at me. I could almost feel the frustration and anger pouring from his body. It took much of my self-control to remain calm and not yell back.

"I did not wish to be here for the change," I said quietly, although my tone was etched with defiance of Carlisle's rude greeting. The older vampire looked me up and down, apparently trying to come to some sort of conclusion. I decided to put his rapidly working mind at ease.

"I stayed true to our habits," I told Carlisle, "There's no need to worry." Then I paused for a moment, looking around for someone who I knew should have been there. "Where's the female?"

"Her name is Esme," Carlisle corrected me instantly, "And she is resting in the back room. Her transformation ended less than a quarter of an hour ago."

Ah, so I was just in time. I nodded and collapsed onto the couch. I wasn't necessarily tired – vampires have no need for sleep – but there were some habits that died hard. For example, breathing. For me, it was completely unnecessary, but I had grown so accustomed to doing it for my seventeen human years that I found it odd not to breathe. Carlisle told me it was a habit to keep though, as interaction with humans was quite possible for me.

"You can go and introduce yourself if you like," Carlisle's voice prodded into my thoughts. I stood, without words, and sauntered over to the backroom of the house, which acted as a bedroom when we had a human guest – which wasn't very often, but Carlisle said we'd have to be careful. I opened the door casually and stepped inside, where darkness was more dominant than light.

Sitting on the foot of the bed was the petite woman whom I had not seen for three days. She looked at me as I entered and a warm smile spread across her pale lips. She certainly seemed very friendly.

"Hello," I greeted, "My name is Edward. I suppose you could say I'm Carlisle's son…"

"Oh," a look of sadness flashed across her pretty features as I spoke of family, but it quickly faded, "I'm Esme; it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Has Carlisle brought you anything to…drink yet?" I asked, hoping to make her first day of many as a vampire comfortable. Esme nodded happily, but there was still a deep sadness in her eyes. I had to restrain myself from digging into her thoughts and discovering the origin of the emotion.

"It was interesting," Esme sighed, her voice as soft as a dove's coo. I couldn't help but to chuckle at her choice of words. Esme looked up at me with relatively dark eyes; sad, dark eyes. I decided it was only fair to provide her with some sort of warning as to my powers.

"Look," I said as gently as I could muster, "I have an out of the ordinary talent, something that a lot of other vampires can't do…" Esme was looking at me intently, hanging onto my every word. "I can read minds," I continued, "I can hear in my head what's going on in yours. So, if you wish to keep your secrets, I'd beg you keep your thoughts in check with me around."

Esme's gaze shifted to look at me sideways and her lips spread into a large smile, as though she were holding back a giggle. I wondered what she found so funny, but I refused to find out by ways that were not available to everyone.

"We're kind of like a family now Edward," she said kindly, "You, Carlisle, and I are our own little family. And there are no secrets that I would not tell me family."

Her words struck a chord with me and I may have cried – if I had tears – when she placed her arms around me in a tight embrace, like a mother hugging their injured child. I then heard Esme's voice inside my own head. _Feel free to look around, to learn._

And so, I closed my eyes and I let myself drift through Esme's mind. There I saw the sources of all her sorrows. I watched in horror as this beautiful, fragile woman was treated like vermin by the man she was supposed to love. I saw her grim pregnancy and I could literally feel her pain as the child she loved from the depths of her heart died before she had a chance to express her adoration.

Then came the cliff. An Esme, overridden with sorrow and mournfully crying, walked to the edge of a rocky abyss, contemplating what her next movement would be. And before I could reach out to her and stop her from her suicide, she had disappeared over the side, and her life was over. Or so it seemed to the human world. 

Carlisle had taken her broken body and brought it back here, to save her, to give her immortality, to spend forever with us…with him. Because I knew Carlisle had some sort of feelings for Esme. I could read it, not from his mind, but on his face. My eyes shot open and I stared at Esme for a long time, in total silence.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. She simply shook her head as though I was being ridiculous. I felt her squeeze my arm in our locked embrace – and it reminded me of the lesson Carlisle had given me, concerning the immense strength of newborn vampires.

"Don't you worry about it for one minute," Esme said, "I have my family."


End file.
